


Melinda May, Bus Mom

by valantha



Series: Fun with drabbles [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabbles span season 1 and 2, Families of Choice, Fluff, Gen, Mother's Day Fluff, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:09:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3914113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melinda May is just the pilot. Melinda May is not emotionally compromised. Melinda May is not Bus Mom.</p>
<p>(Yeah, right.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melinda May, Bus Mom

“I’m warning you: If you bleed all over that couch, I’m taking it out of your non-existent paycheck,” May’s voice filtered in from somewhere near the front of the plane.

“Yes, Mom!” Skye quipped.

Both Simmons, who was tending Skye’s accidentally-broken nose, and Ward, who had done the accidental breaking, flinched, waiting for some sort of return-fire.

There wasn’t any, not even a snort.

Simmons exchanged a look of confusion with Ward, who just gave a one-shouldered shrug before returning to his fretful mother-henning about not dropping one’s guard.

Had anyone seen May, she would have denied the soft almost-smile.

* * *

_Rap-a-tap-tap_

“Go ‘way Simmons!” Fitz shouted, “Can’t a man get some rest? I’ll take a look in the mornin’!”

“It’s not Simmons,” May replied.

Fitz frowned, and then answered: “Go away.”

He huddled back under his duvet.

A few moments later his lock beeped, and door slid back. A mug of tea appeared in front of his face.

He pulled the covers down further.

He heard the thump of the mug on his bedside table.

“You did good, Fitz.”

“And no, crossing off targets never gets any easier.”

May snicked the door shut behind her with a wry, pained grimace.

* * *

Jemma rifled through her civilian duffle again, checking that all of her clothes, multi-purpose make-up, and emergency-transponder-locket were in place.

Still the butterflies in her stomach rioted, and she knew she was missing something.

She tugged on her now much-shorter hair, and gnawed on her lip.

“You can do this.”

Jemma jerked back into the present.

May deftly disentangled her hair, tucking the strand back in place.

“There, that’s better,” May murmured.

“I don’t think I can,” Jemma replied.

“I believe in you,” May declared.

Jemma’s 500-Watt smile could not go without response. Unbidden, a semi-smile teased at May’s lips.

* * *

“Lilies?” suggested Jemma.

“Daisies!” declared Skye.

“Monkey-flowers,” argued Fitz.

Both of the women rolled their eyes.

“What! They’re beautiful!”

“Fitz!” was Jemma’s stock response, “What about yellow roses?”

“Too boring,” replied Skye.

“What’s happening?” Coulson asked, entering the kitchen.

“Uh, nothing?” replied Fitz.

“Just hanging,” added Skye.

“Nothing,” squeaked Jemma, quickly flipping over her checklist.

“Okay…” Phil replied, backing out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder he added, “In case you were wondering, May’s favorite flowers are lilacs. White lilacs.”

“White lilacs?” echoed Fitz.

“Well okay then. Mother’s Day flowers, check. How are you coming on the other thing, Skye?”

* * *

May stopped outside her bunk. Something just wasn’t right.

She quickly tapped out a query to The Playground’s internal security system.

No unauthorized access; apparently. But her low-tech, unhackable security hair strand was gone.

May un-holstered her ICER, entered Bahrain’s date, and cautiously eased her bunk door open.

Within seconds she was assaulted by the smell of lilac.

She threw her door open wide.

There, on the utilitarian bedside table, in the Spartan room, in a faux Ming vase, stood a bouquet of white lilacs. May grinned.

May returned the ICER to its holster and shook her head. Those kids…


End file.
